


Twelve Pairs of Gloves

by mific



Series: Leap Day Traditions [2]
Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Crack, Fanfiction, Fluff, Leap Day, M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-01
Updated: 2020-03-01
Packaged: 2021-02-28 09:14:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,782
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22967542
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mific/pseuds/mific
Summary: On a very special day, Rodney sets John a challenge.
Relationships: Rodney McKay/John Sheppard
Series: Leap Day Traditions [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1650643
Comments: 10
Kudos: 74
Collections: Romancing McShep 2020





	Twelve Pairs of Gloves

**Author's Note:**

> It's still Leap Day in a lot of the world, so I'm sliding this one in just in time, for Romancing McShep. Unmitigated fluffy crack, I'm afraid. I only ever seem to write A/B/O dynamics as crack!  
> The tradition with the gloves is real, by the way, I just shoehorned it into an A/B/O 'verse. In which there is of course no DADT.

" _There_ you are!" Rodney said, barging into John's quarters after presumably hotwiring his door crystals.

"Yeah, McKay, here I am. In my quarters," John replied, not deigning to glance up from the _Golf Today_ magazine he was trying to read.

"Well, you're not usually in your quarters this time of day," Rodney protested. "You're usually lounging around in the mess hall, hanging out with Teyla and Ronon. And me." Rodney seemed to realize that had sounded a bit pathetic and grimaced unhappily. He was such a typical omega sometimes, heart on his sleeve and no game face at all.

John felt uneasy for a split second. He wasn't entirely sure himself why he'd avoided the team at dinner. "Just tired, I guess. Didn't feel hungry."

Rodney looked pointedly at the empty Pringles container on the nightstand, and John scowled, caught out. He slapped the magazine down on the bed, swinging his legs around to sit up. "What? You're my mom now, come to drag me to dinner?"

"No, I..." Rodney came close to wringing his hands, but managed to divert the gesture into the one where he fondled an invisible mass floating in the air in front of him. "You're avoiding me!" he blurted.

John raised an eyebrow. "Yeah? What makes you think that?"

Rodney _just_ managed not to put his hands on his hips, but he clearly wanted to. "Because this is a Leap Year, and today's Leap Day."

John felt that twinge of unease again. "Uh huh. So?"

Rodney waved his hands as though conducting an orchestra of stinging hornets. "So omegas get to propose to alphas on Leap Days, is what! As you very well know."

A chill ran through John. "Don't see how that applies to me," he said, deliberately casual, not meeting Rodney's eyes.

"Well, you may be the least alpha-like alpha in two galaxies, with the slouching and the geekiness, not to mention the goofy laugh, but you _are_ still an alpha."

"I'm the goddamned Military Commander of Atlantis," John retorted, eyes narrowing. "How much more alpha-like d'you want me to be?"

"I want you to catch a clue, for fuck's sake!" Rodney yelled, throwing up his hands. "I want you to quit it with the endless flirting and make a move! But you never do, so as usual, it's up to me to save the day." He crossed his arms. "It's not like you don't know I've got a ZPM-sized crush on you."

John felt panicked. "McKay–" he began, almost pleading.

"No. No more stalling." Rodney stuck out his jaw. "John Sheppard, it's Leap Day and I invoke the right of omegas everywhere to propose to alphas. So. I'm proposing."

John bent forward and scrubbed his hands through his hair, thoughts whirling. "Aw, hell, Rodney. Why'd you have to go and do _that_?"

"Do you accept?" Now Rodney had said his piece he seemed calmer.

John peered up at him, unable to keep up the blank front, longing and despair chasing themselves across his face. "You know we can't. The fraternization regs, and I'm base commander..."

Rodney's mouth slanted down in a bitter line. "Always the same excuses, but I know it goes deeper than that." He pulled himself up stiffly. "So that's a no, then, Colonel?"

John flinched. "Rodney, I just. There's no way–"

"Spare me." Rodney turned toward the door, which swished open at his approach. He looked out into the hallway, then brightened. "Zelenka? Lorne? This is opportune."

John stood up, about to protest as he heard the others outside, probably heading for their room, a few doors down.

"What is it, Rodney?" Zelenka asked, sounding little impatient.

Rodney moved to block the door so it couldn't close. "I'm calling you to witness. It being a Leap Day, I've proposed to Colonel Sheppard, but the Colonel has rebuffed me."

"Jesus Christ, Rodney," John growled, striding over, his fists clenched. "Shut the fucking door!"

"No, no," Zelenka said, coming closer and peering in at John, Lorne in tow. John was pretty sure Lorne was fighting down a grin. "Rodney is correct. Is old tradition—omegas have the right to ask, on a Leap Day. Today is indeed February 29, back on Earth. We use Earth calendar here, so we must honor this."

"That right, sir?" Lorne asked, clearly suppressing a smirk. "You're turning Dr. McKay down?" Oh, he was _so_ doing all the goddamn performance reviews.

"Hell, yes," John snapped, glaring at Rodney. "What, you thought some public humiliation'd bring me around?"

"No, I really didn't." Rodney sounded tired, and dispirited. "I just refuse to go on denying what I feel any longer. What we both feel."

John screwed his eyes shut and pinched the bridge of his nose. "Fuck."

Lorne was frowning now, but Zelenka regarded John calmly. "There is a penalty, of course. Another old tradition. If you refuse an omega, you must buy them twelve pairs of gloves, one pair every day for twelve days. As an omega myself, I have researched this." He turned to Lorne. "It was so that a rejected omega could cover up shame of an empty ring finger." Lorne nodded sagely. "If gloves are not provided, even if just one pair is missed, the alpha must accept proposal," Zelenka continued inexorably.

John glowered furiously at Zelenka and Lorne, then at Rodney, who'd probably relied on Zelenka's hoard of arcane trivia to raise the twelve pairs of gloves bullshit. Zelenka always won at Trivial Pursuit.

Rodney stepped away, out of John's door into the hallway. "I'll expect the first pair tomorrow, Colonel," he said, turning away.

"You must be fucking joking!" John called after him. "Radek, this is crap!"

Lorne looked concerned. "Better go with it, sir. Don't want to upset all the base's omegas, do we? I mean, Doc Carson's an omega." he glanced at Zelenka, who nodded sharply. Lorne was probably more worried that if he pissed off his omega there'd be a blowjob embargo.

Rodney strode away toward his room and John tried to get the door to slam shut, but it just hissed home somewhat more forcefully than usual. Ancient doors were crap sometimes.

So Rodney wanted to play it that way, huh? Well, game on.

* * *

John had lain awake awhile, not so much worrying about Rodney and Zelenka's ridiculous Leap Day nonsense, but he couldn't get Rodney's face out of his mind—how tired and sad he'd looked at being turned down. But it was Rodney's own damn fault, John told himself angrily. He knew how things stood between them, knew John's responsibilities meant he couldn't... Rodney should have known better than to ask.

In the morning it all seemed sillier and more distant. Ronon collected him for their usual run, and the sweaty, pounding exercise cleared away the last tendrils of impatience and regret. Until they stopped for a breather midway, on the upper catwalk.

"So. You figured out where to get gloves?" Ronon asked, leaning back on the railing on his elbows.

"Jesus—where in hell did _you_ hear about it?" John wiped his flushed face with a forearm.

Ronon shrugged. "Abbot told me in the mess. Thought everyone knew." He glanced sideways at John. "We didn't have that on Sateda. The omega's family just challenged the alpha to a knife fight."

John tensed up. Did Ronon think he was Rodney's family?

"Relax!" Ronon whacked John on the back. "That was the old days. It was banned in my father's father's time. Pity, though," he added thoughtfully.

"Yeah, well," John put in, before Ronon could get any ideas about reviving traditions. Suddenly the stupid thing with the gloves didn't seem so bad. "Knife fights are outlawed here in the city as well."

"I figured," Ronon said, straightening up. "C'mon, we better get back. You've got gloves to find."

"Eh, I'll just get some from the quartermaster," John said dismissively, and they resumed running.

* * *

"What do you mean, there are no gloves?" John frowned at Corcoran, the sergeant who acted as base quartermaster.

"Sorry, sir, but we ran out a couple weeks ago. We've requisitioned several boxes on the next Daedalus run—you signed the order off yourself."

John had no recall of okaying a shipment of gloves, not that he'd have thought anything of it since it was summer on Atlantis. Lorne had probably countersigned the requisition for him.

He sighed. The Daedalus wasn't due for another two weeks. "So not even hand-me-downs?" he asked, trying not to whine. "No stray gloves I could pair up?"

"No, sir, sorry. Can I ask what type of gloves you're needing?" But there was a glint in Corcoran's eye, and John figured he knew only too well.

"Doesn't matter," John said, and got out before Corcoran could tease him any more. _Someone_ must have gloves.

Trouble was, the gossip mill on Atlantis had been as efficient as usual—as evidenced by Ronon, bright and early—so asking people to give him gloves led to a hell of a lot of smirking and giggling. Plus, no one fessed up to owning any gloves. The whole damn city was devoid of gloves, it seemed.

By lunchtime, John was worn out from trudging around the Marine quarters, the staff offices and the labs—carefully avoiding Rodney's lab. Even the labs supposedly had a shortage of gloves—rubber, silicone, any damn gloves. He sat dispiritedly in the mess, picking at a plate of mac 'n cheese, which he usually liked. It was tasteless today.

Teyla put her tray down on the table opposite him. "Good day, John," she said.

A spark of hope ran through John and he lifted his head. "Teyla, hey." He leaned forward. "Look, Teyla, the Athosians are leatherworkers, right? With the hides of animals you've hunted?"

"Indeed, yes. Some of my people are very skilled at the craft." She tilted her head, smiling blandly. "Why do you ask?" Man, she had a great poker face. She looked the picture of innocence, even though John was sure she must know about him and Rodney.

"Well, see, I need some pairs of gloves," he said, playing along.

"Gloves," Teyla repeated doubtfully. "Coverings for the hands, yes?" John nodded, trying not to seem too eager.

"I do not think my people make such things," Teyla said, using her fork to cut a bite from the vegetable lasagne on her plate.

"Oh, come on, you've gotta be _kidding_ me!" John said, slamming his fork down on the table more forcefully than he'd meant to. But, come _on_!

Teyla's face had stilled and hardened. "Are you calling me a liar, John?"

Christ, it was Revenge of the Omegas. "Sheesh, no, jeez, I'm sorry. But...I just can't believe... really? They don't make gloves?"

Teyla had thawed a little. She bent to her lunch again. "Athos was not an icy world, and nor is New Athos. Winters are mild and my people need their hands free to nock arrows and set snares. Dexterity is much prized."

"Okay, okay, I get it. But, there must be _some_ colder worlds? You must have seen people wearing gloves somewhere in Pegasus?"

Teyla considered this at some length. "I have seen bindings wrapped around the hands on Isinfyrd, and sacks of felted cloth tied around the wrists during blizzards on Nusit. But nothing like the gloves I have seen expedition members wearing here, no."

"Damn it." John racked his brains. "But, hey, like you said, some of the Athosians are skilled leatherworkers, right? So If I gave them a pattern, they could make me some gloves, yeah? For a price," he added hastily. "A fair trade for whatever they wanted."

"You could certainly ask them," Teyla said, her face bland again. "If you locate a pattern, we can schedule a visit. I would be happy to visit New Athos a little sooner—I was not planning to do so until next week."

John wanted to go right then, that afternoon, but Elizabeth pointed out it would be nighttime in New Athos, and she was dubious about the need for the mission, anyway. He narrowed his eyes at her, figuring she'd heard about the twelve pairs of gloves thing on the grapevine as well, and was stringing him along like everyone else. She was a beta, not an omega! They were all in on the conspiracy to keep John from getting his hands on the gloves he needed to thwart Rodney's stupid penalty. "Anyway, we need gloves for the base. Corcoran's run out and the Daedalus's not due for two weeks."

"Oh dear, that was bad planning," Elizabeth said, not sounding at all concerned. "It's a good thing we're in summer now, so gloves aren't essential." She waved a hand. "But, fine, I'll authorise the mission to New Athos. More so that Teyla can visit her people, though. And not until tomorrow morning."

John left, gritting his teeth. That night, he gave Rodney his only pair of soft black leather golfing gloves, which was a wrench. Rodney stood in his doorway and accepted the gloves without comment. John kind of wanted to ask if he could come in and watch a movie or something, but there was still something formal and slightly bruised in the way Rodney carried himself, so John figured he wouldn't be welcome. He sighed and turned away.

* * *

He was yawning and red-eyed the next morning. The database contained no glove patterns, it seemed. Either the Ancients hadn't worn gloves, or John's database google-fu was sadly lacking. Maybe even Atlantis itself was in on the damn conspiracy. In the end he'd had to laboriously draw around his fingers to make a rough pattern, with scribbled instructions on the side.

New Athos was crisply fresh in the morning, sun slanting down through the forest as they made their way along the trail to the village. They were all offered stout tea, Rodney screwing up his face at the taste. He'd only ever drunk the stuff willingly in that first year when they ran out of coffee. John saw Rodney was wearing the golfing gloves as he held his hot bowl of tea. It kind of hurt John's heart to see that, and he turned away.

Teyla went off to talk with Halling and John scouted around the tents, trying to figure out who the leatherworkers were. After a few queries he was directed to a cluster of tents around a larger structure, where younger Athosians clustered at the feet of an older, bearded man, who was working on a pair of beautifully decorated soft suede boots.

John felt mildly triumphant. At least he'd gotten here before Teyla'd had a chance to queer the pitch for him. He explained what he needed, handing over his messy pattern and instructions.

The older guy nodded slowly. "Hand coverings. Unusual. Do they have ritual significance?"

"No, not really, more for warmth." Or fashion, but John didn't think the Athosians would grasp the way fashion went on Earth, or how it had been in the days this daft tradition arose, when omegas wore dainty calfskin gloves with pearl buttons, a different color to match every outfit. "So, you think you can make me some of these?"

"Most certainly. The work is fine, but we are used to delicate work." He turned to his apprentices. "Are we not?" They smiled and nodded, passing the pattern around and poring over it.

"How, ah, soon do you think you can have the first pair done?" John asked. "I mean, I don't wanna rush you, but I kind of have a, a glove emergency."

The master leatherworker tilted his head in thought. "Hmmm. There are the boots for Maeke, the new tent for Doran..."

"The quivers for Antil and Lemora," one of the apprentices put in, and the old guy nodded.

"And Jinto's leggings, and the new cloak for Tellan," another apprentice added.

John's heart sank. "I can, um, pay more for a rush job," he offered.

The old leatherworker frowned. "We are craftsmen. We do not 'rush'." He swept a hand around, indicating his students. "What sort of example would that be for the young?"

"Right, right, sorry," John said hastily. He seemed to be apologizing a lot lately. "So how long d'you think?"

"Oh, a moon cycle, thereabouts," the old guy said breezily. "We will send word through the Ring when they are ready for collection."

"Um, yeah. Lemme just talk to Teyla about that," John said, cursing inwardly. "I'll negotiate the trade with her and she'll let you know if I wanna go ahead."

"Most certainly." The leatherworkers turned back to their sewing and cutting.

So much for that. John needed a new plan.

* * *

Gardening gloves! John had forgotten the botanists. As soon as he’d stowed the puddlejumper he lit out for Botany's gardens and hydroponic labs. Katie Brown was working in the translucent-domed room that served as a glasshouse.

“Hey, Doc Brown,” John said.

She blushed, lifting an hand to wipe her nose, smearing a little dirt on the tip. From her _gloves_. “Colonel Sheppard. Can I help you with something?”

“Sure can,” John was feeling cocky. Finally, he’d lucked out. “I need some of those gloves.” He pointed at the heavy canvas things encrusted with soil that she was wearing.

“These?” Katie peered at her hands. “You’re potting something?” She frowned. “I hope it’s not an off-world plant, Colonel. You know they all have to be vetted by Botany first, after that incident with the,” she blushed again, “ _pollen_.”

John winced. Those innocuous-looking lilies Lorne and Parrish had brought back from P3F-696 had almost led to an orgy in the gateroom. Turned out only betas were susceptible, and there weren’t any betas on Lorne’s team. Katie was a beta, which was maybe why it hadn’t worked out between her and Rodney. Rodney really did need an alpha to keep him in line.

“Er, Colonel?” Katie was looking at him curiously. Right, mustn’t drift off, even if he was bone tired.

“Yeah, I need some gloves. As a present.” Katie looked even more baffled, if possible. “For Rodney,” John explained.

“Rodney’s doing gardening?” Katie’s brows had pulled together in puzzlement. She clearly wasn't up with the gossip. Well, at least she wasn’t in on it with the rest of them.

“Nah, it’s a, kind of like a game. I have to give him gloves. Or else I…” Katie looked questioning. “Um, or else I… this is kind of awkward. With you two having been… you know.”

Her face cleared. “Oh, we’re both long over that, Colonel. I’m with Shannon now, and, well, I thought Rodney and you?...” she trailed off, smiling nervously.

“Yeah, so everyone seems to think," John said wearily. Including Rodney. “Look, can you let me have a pair of these gloves, or not?”

Katie frowned. “We don’t really have enough for the department. Can you explain why you need them?”

John tried. When he was done, Katie was frowning again. “So, because you turned down Rodney’s proposal, you have to give him a pair of gloves every day, so he can cover up his hands in public and people won’t see the lack of a ring?”

"It’s not _my_ idea, jeez," John protested. "I think it’s crazy, some dumb old tradition. But the omegas are all worked up about it."

"You think Rodney’s going to want to wear ratty old canvas gloves covered with dirt?" Katie asked doubtfully. "I mean, I can let you have one pair, maybe, but we don’t have more than half a dozen pairs left, and some are in worse shape than these."

John sighed. "Yeah, forget it. It was a dumb idea." He turned away.

"Would it be so terrible, Colonel?" Katie asked softly behind him. "To accept Rodney’s proposal? He’s not so bad, you know. More considerate than you’d think." John turned back—she was blushing again.

"Like they say, it’s not him, it’s me," John said, his voice flat. He'd been married once, and look how that had turned out.

"Well, maybe you should get over yourself," Katie said, with surprising asperity, although her cheeks were bright pink. "Wait, I’ll get you something," she added, and dashed off through the foliage.

She came back with something like a red rose. "It’s not a rose, it’s from that world with the hippo-things. It’s got no pollen, so nothing to make Rodney sneeze," Katie explained.

"I... okay, thanks," John said. His thoughts were churning with all his usual doubts, all the things that could go wrong. He reached out and took the not-rose. She was right, of course. He’d gotten so competitive about the damn gloves, about beating Rodney and Zelenka’s game, that he’d lost sight of what mattered.

* * *

"It’s safe," John said, thrusting the rose-thing at Rodney once his door had swooshed open. "No pollen, Katie says."

Rodney took the flower, then stepped back. "Given up on the gloves, then?"

John came inside and the door closed smoothly behind him. "Yeah, Lorne and Zelenka pretty much made that impossible, and Katie persuaded me you wouldn’t want to wear dirty gardening gloves from Botany."

"Ew, no." Rodney shuddered, then located a water glass for the flower and set it on his desk. "Full of alien microbes. So what’s with the flower?"

"It’s a goddamn romantic gesture, Rodney, what'd you think? Also, an apology. I’m sorry, okay? For being an ass. I didn’t see it coming, the proposal. I was thrown."

"That was pretty obvious," Rodney said. He was leaning against the wall, gazing at John calmly.

"I don’t know why you want me," John said plaintively. "I’m a mess."

Rodney pushed off from the wall and came closer. John realized he was acting like someone approaching a wild animal, careful not to spook it. He snorted a slightly desperate laugh.

Rodney didn’t reply, just came nearer until he was right in John’s space. He reached up and stroked John’s cheek. John felt his eyes close, then he felt Rodney’s lips on his, and Rodney’s arms around him. It felt right, like coming home. He drew a shaky breath and put his arms around Rodney in turn, holding the familiar, solid form, opening his mouth as the kiss deepened, hotter and wetter until their breath was coming short and they had to take a break.

"I’m a mess, too," Rodney said softly. "It’ll be okay. We already know how to do this; we’ve been doing it for years."

John thought about how everyone, even Atlantis, even the Athosians, had conspired to keep him gloveless. Even Katie had known he and Rodney were together.

"Yeah," John said, "I guess we have." And he drew Rodney into another kiss.

~the end~


End file.
